The Five Times Blaine Met My Mom
by bmonteithcrisslopez
Summary: From Kurt's POV, takes place in a 10 year or so span of Klaine's relationship. Future Klaine in the later parts, along with our favorite bashful Dalton part of their relationship.


**A/N: Hello, I'm back! I wrote this at 3 a.m. over that lovely 12 day power outage which was in the wake of Hurricane Sandy. Basically, I watched the episode of glee season 1 where Kurt helped Finn get dressed to tell Quinn's parents about the baby, and he mentioned smelling his mother's perfume in the drawers. Thus this little fic was born. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing. **

**Disclaimer: I've about given up on buying glee. It belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox and forever will be under their control.**

* * *

The Five Times Blaine Met My Mom

The first time I tell Blaine about the drawers is during my first week at Dalton. It's late one Friday night, which means we're having a movie night up in his dorm, something that has become the usual for us in the short month and a half I have known him. We had just finished watching The Sound Of Music and are about to start watching West Side Story when I turn to face him on the white leather couch.

"Do you want to know what I miss most about not living at home?" I ask the shorter boy beside me.

Blaine furrows his eyebrows – and God does he looks cute when he does that. "Your dad?" he asks, taking an oblivious, albeit smart, guess.

I shake my head, sighing. "My mom."

Now it's his turn to stare at me, the confusion obvious on his face in the way he frowns, one eyebrow raised. "Kurt… but you said your mom-"

"Okay this might sound kind of stupid," I begin, not even caring that I cut him off, and I'm lucky that he doesn't seem to mind either. Blaine's good like that, letting other people speak before him, putting others before himself. I should probably work on that. "My dad had kept everything of my mom's, and up until a few months ago he even had her toothbrush on the counter in their bathroom. Of course, he married Carole which has called for mandatory clean up, but that's not the point. He won't touch her chest of drawers though. Since I was a kid… I used to, um, open all the draws, lie on the floor and just talk to her. The drawers… they still smell like her perfume… I feel closer to her when I do that." I take a pause, still avoiding the careful eye of my friend. "When my dad started getting new furniture, finally thinking it was time to move on, I made sure to keep the drawers. If he got rid of them, I'd have felt like he was getting rid of my mom." I take another steadying breath, finally meeting his eye, which was full of care and warmth. "It's stupid, but I really do miss her… Even if only in that way."

To my surprise – and pleasure – Blaine takes my hand in his, gently squeezing it. "It's not stupid," he murmurs in a smooth voice. "Thank you for trusting me with this, Kurt." Blaine licks his lips – which granted is distracting – before he continues. "And if you want, I'll drive you back home his weekend, so you can be with her."

I grin a little bit – he's too perfect for words – and nod. "Blaine, that would mean so much to me!" I squeal, squeezing his hand and giving him a tight hug. "Thank you."

He nods as we sit back down on the couch. "Anything you need, I'd love to help," he replies simply, smiling one last time at me before hitting play.

My mind kept reminding me of how lucky I was, even when the music of one of my favorite musicals filled my ears.

* * *

It's not until we've been dating for a while – long enough that the Warblers and other friends give us alone time - when he asks about her. It's early spring, and I was back at McKinley, so that usually meant we were at one of each other's houses on the weekends. Being in different schools was hard, but it was worth it, and we did get more privacy than we did at Dalton.

Anyways, it's a Saturday and we're lying in the grass in his backyard – on a blanket, of course! Can't afford to have grass stains – when he turns to look at me. I turn my head as well, giving him a small smile.

"What?" I ask, my voice light as light as the cool breeze blowing the leaves on his trees.

He just grins back at me, biting his lip – which again, is distracting. "Can you tell me about your mom?"

The question is sudden, and before I can stop myself, I pout a little bit. It was a simple enough thing to inquire – and, granted, it is true that I hadn't shared much about her to him - but it still caught me off guard.

"What would you like to know?" I finally murmur once I regain my composure.

"I don't know, whatever you'd like to tell me. Like… What she looked like? What she was like even?"

I let out a tiny sigh, squeezing the hand that is intertwined with my own. "She was… the best. A lot like me, or so my dad insists. She was incredibly supportive for a mother of an obviously gay son. My mom would spoil me, much like you do," I mention, earning a smile from my dapper boyfriend and I can't help but smile in return – his smile is infectious. "She had my color hair, rather short and wavy, but stylish none the less." Blaine is still grinning at me - that special grin that I like to think only I get to see – and I can't help but blush under his gaze. "When I was little, we used to help each other get dressed in the morning. I would help her pick out an outfit, matching shoes and jewelry of course, and then she'd pick out my clothes. Of course, I wouldn't wear her suggestion; you know how picky I am on my appearance, but regardless… It's my favorite memory of her."

Blaine leans over and pecks my lips softly, a small gesture that goes a long way. "She sounds as special as you," he murmured before looking back up at the tree we're lying under. And that was that.

* * *

It takes another few months, around April of my senior year, when he meets her. Well, as much as he could.

He had asked about it a few times, and when we finally had the chance, I figured it wouldn't hurt.

That didn't mean I wasn't still nervous as I led him, hand in hand, upstairs to my bedroom in our new house that we lived in with Carole and Finn. In the corner of the small guest bedroom was my mother's old chest of drawers.

He smiles as we enter the room - which now that I think about, he had never been in before – spotting the old, and empty, set of drawers. On the top of it sits a picture of her, well a picture before she got sick that is. I was only 4 when it was taken, but she looks as beautiful as I remember her.

"That's it, right?" he asks, squeezing my hand and winds a protective arm around my waist. I nodded, leading him over to it.

I sit him down on the bed before walking over to open all the drawers at once. The faint smell of her perfume fills my nose and I can't help but feel at peace.

Blaine smells it too, and wraps his arms around me as I sit down beside him.

We don't talk, but it's a serene silence, not an awkward one. We just sit on the bed – which was very new – and breath in something that still reminded me so much of someone I loved maybe even more than Blaine – not that I would ever tell him that.

That was the moment, at least for me, that I knew - no matter what happened - that Blaine and I would be together forever.

* * *

I finally take him to her grave a few years later. We're both in our early twenties – to be precise I'm 22 and he's 21. We're newly weds, taking a detour to little old Lima, Ohio for a few days before leaving for Paris on our honeymoon.

I had been meaning to take him to her grave for years, but with our whirlwind lives we just hadn't gotten around to it. So when it was finally time, he was surprisingly more nervous that I was.

Going to the small patch of land under the willow treat we had planted when I was ten still made me shiver. It was so much more tangible to me that she was gone when we visited it. It brought back memories – some amazing, some rotten – that I otherwise hated to bring to the forefront of my mind.

Blaine drives over, following my directions until we're parked as close to the plot as you could drive. I wait for him in from of his SUV, taking his hand because for now, I need to. It was a thing; just a simple tradition of someone always holding my hand when I went to see her, but just because it wasn't my father's hand in mine wasn't going to make me give up my most important ritual.

He smiles at me, lacing our fingers, and I can't help but let a tear fall at the feeling of the cool metal of his wedding ring against my fingers.

So much has happened since my mother passed on. Hell, so much has happened since I came and visited last year. And I tell her everything she missed out on, like I have been since I was eight years old.

I slowly lead Blaine over to her cemetery plot – her tombstone immaculately weed free due to Carole's loving up keeping of it - and it takes all I have not to start crying just by reading the familiar words which will forever be imprinted on my brain.

_Elizabeth Mayes Hummel _

_February 10, 1963 – May 6, 2001_

_A loving mother and wife. _

The stone was simple – my father never was a man of many words – but it was perfect, and it was her.

Blaine squeezes my hand protectively and sits beside me as I slowly ease my way onto the grass – another tradition.

I put our intertwined hands in my lap, looking at where my mother lay as I speak. "Hi, Mom," I begin, my voice not above a whisper. "I know it's been a year, but New York is crazy. Don't worry; I love every second of it. The biggest announcement is that Blaine and I just got married. It was an exquisite ceremony in the city, one I'm sure you would have been fond of. All of our friends from both New Directions and the Warblers came, Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury even brought their little boy." I have to smile a little at the memory of little Timmy dancing with Brittany and Santana at the reception; let's just say that the two year old has yet to have been put through booty camp. "Blaine here, the big romantic, even wrote me a song as his vows, Not Alone… It was breath taking, Mom. Maybe he'll sing it for you one day." Blaine nods beside me and I squeeze his hand, a few tears rolling down my cheeks. I'm not sad though; I'm happy, so happy and proud to have the love of my life with me here. "Oh! I forgot, Blaine is with me today. Dad and Carole wanted to spend a few days in the city, so he joined me this time." I take a pause to glance over at my husband – which is still a dream to even say – and he is giving me the same watery grin that's on my own lips. "We're going to Paris tomorrow night, our honeymoon. All those French lessons you insisted on giving me will finally come in handy." I stop talking for a moment, letting the breeze - which most people would find creepy in a grave yard - bring me peace. "I love you mom, so does Blaine. I hate to go but… We ought to be on our way. I'll bring him back with me next time, I promise."

Blaine stands beside me, helping me up before pulling me into a greatly needed hug. "I love you," he whispers into my ear and I just nod, the tears freely flowing down my face now. The moment is bittersweet, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

A few years go by and when we visit her grave now, we're not alone; now we're accompanied by Lizzie and Toni.

"Papa, I thought Grandma Carole was your mommy!" Lizzie says, speaking her mind from where she's belted in the backseat of our van.

It's May 6th and Blaine and I finally made our way down to Ohio with our precious five-year-old twin girls.

"She's his step mommy sweetheart," Blaine replies calmly as he looks over his shoulder to smile at her. "This is his real mommy."

Lizzie nods, though I can tell without looking that she has one eyebrow elevated. Sometimes she's too much like Rachel for me to bear.

Yes Rachel was our surrogate, and somehow each of our girls took after one of us. Liz is Blaine's double in every way; from her brown untame-able curls down to her mesmerizing hazel eyes; even her height is significantly below her sister's. Toni, named after Blaine's roll on Broadway and McKinley, looks a lot like me; she has my eyes and pale skin, though somehow inherited Rachel's nose and hair type. Our girls are perfect.

"Daddy, where's your mommy?" asks Toni, her voice quieter than her sisters.

"Daddy's mommy lives in Westerville, we're be going over there for dinner, remember?" I answer for Blaine, smiling over at my husband of nearly eight years.

We pull up to the graveyard and I take a little pride in the way that I don't even feel any melancholy at all. It's a happy occasion; my mom will finally meet my girls. Granted, she had met them before, but this time they're old enough to actually talk.

The four of us pile out, Blaine walking behind and the girls each holding onto one of my hands in their little vice grips. They had questioned the black dresses I had laid out for them at first, but knew not to argue when it came to what they wore.

"Hi, Mom," I begin, sitting onto the ground with Toni in my lap – Lizzie insisted on standing next to Blaine, claiming that it wasn't lady like to sit in a dress. Typical Liz. "Today we brought Toni and Lizzie with us. They're already five, six in only a few weeks believe it or not."

I go though the motions, catching her up on what's happened in our lives. Blaine says a few words as well, telling of his new roll as J. Pierpont Finch in 'How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying on Broadway'. I can't help but let a few tears fall when Lizzie and Toni each utter something as well. Toni is quick, only explaining to my mom about how Papa was going to get her a kitty when we return to New York – something about Blaine is that he can never say no to me, and Toni in return. He claims it's our eyes, I think that he merely wanted a pet – and she quickly adds that we're going to Papa's Mommy's house for supper. Lizzie, however, goes into grand detail about how much she loves both Blaine and I, how good we are to her and Toni, even saying how much her daddies love each other. The kid is so cute she even made sure thanks my mom for having me – there's the Blaine in there for you.

We don't stay very long – since we had the two hour drive to Westerville – but the trip is still meaningful to me, each one is now since we can only make it out to Ohio every once in a while. It's what happens as we pull away that makes even more meaningful though.

"Papa," Toni murmurs, her small voice louder than usual.

"Yes, honey?" I ask, turning in my seat to look at her.

"You said grandma's name was Elizabeth, was Lizzie named after her?" she wonders, her eyes sparkling in a way I knew my own did.

I smile back at her, nodding. "She sure was, and I know that Grandma Elizabeth would be very proud of our Lizzie _and _our Toni."

And I know that my mom would be proud of me too.

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**A/N: Final shout out to my AMAZING beta Pav. This was gibberish before she helped me. **

**Reviews make my day and help push me to write more, it's a sad but true fact. Thanks for reading! Until next time. ~ Bea xx**


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